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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23941342">Sitz, Bitteschön</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignorama/pseuds/ignorama'>ignorama</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Die Ärzte</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Frottage, Is It Truly Public If It's Just You And The Homies, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rod Is There But It's Not A Big Deal, Semi-Public Sex, The B Stands For Brat, Tour Bus Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:06:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23941342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignorama/pseuds/ignorama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If you sit on my lap, I swear that I'll stay hard.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bela B/Farin Urlaub</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sitz, Bitteschön</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I blame Bela's "sitz, bitteschön" at the end of the unplugged version of Ignorama for this entirely. I just blame Ignorama, really.</p><p>The time period is vague. So long as it's a year where there were smart phones and memes, you get to Choose Your Own Appearance for the band.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were many things Bela enjoyed about touring. Their tour bus <em> itself </em>was not one of them. </p><p>Cramped and almost always too cold, it wasn’t the luxury one might have expected from Die Beste Band Der Welt. Flying just wasn’t always an option. The bus, however, <em> always </em>was. It was a beast, but a dependable one. At least they no longer had to share one bus between themselves and the rest of the crew like they had in the past.</p><p>As much as they all loved each other, by the end of a tour everyone was ready for some space, and it was just about nearing that point for Bela, Farin, and Rod. Unfortunately, one could only get so far away from the others without outright jumping out onto the autobahn—and even that option seemed appealing, at times.</p><p>Throughout the seemingly endless drive, they had each sequestered themselves to separate sides of the main room. Farin sat in a lounge chair in one corner reading. Rod took up the booth across from him, headphones on as he watched a movie on his laptop. Bela himself was sprawled out on the couch pressed against the opposite wall, aimlessly scrolling through his phone.</p><p>Had it not been for the constant hum of a vehicle in motion, and the occasional flutter of a page being turned, the bus would have been entirely silent. </p><p>Bela snickered to himself as he saved another meme, quickly dropping it into his text conversation with Farin. He could hear the guitarist’s phone buzz from across the room and, as had been the case for most of the day, this text also went unacknowledged. He didn’t even glance up from his book.</p><p>He didn’t know what he had done to deserve Farin’s cold shoulder, but it almost certainly wasn’t warranted. He had been responding to other texts, had even had a bit of a conversation with Rod over lunch earlier. So why was he any different?</p><p>He wasn’t the type to demand anyone’s affections—let alone Farin’s—but he couldn’t stand being purposely ignored when, as far as he knew, he hadn’t done anything!</p><p>Bela was pulled out of his internal tantrum by the telltale creak of Farin standing up from the chair, most likely to make what had to be his hundredth cup of tea of the day. He glanced up from his phone to get a look at him as he passed. He seemed perfectly normal, chipper even, as he made his way to the kitchenette. That only confirmed Bela’s suspicions that this was deliberate. </p><p>Was he just going to ignore him until their concert that night?</p><p>The moment an idea to end this streak crossed his mind, Bela was acting on it. </p><p>He had been growing restless, and he needed a change of scenery. What better to change to than the seat Farin had just abandoned? Two birds with one stone, as far as he was concerned. </p><p>He bolted from the couch once Farin started to busy himself with the kettle in the other room, the rush of water from the sink covering the sound of movements. </p><p>He sprawled in the space that had been previously claimed by the guitarist, like a king atop his ill-gotten throne. He reached behind himself to retrieve the book Farin had been reading and flipped through its pages. What could have possibly been worth ignoring<em> him?</em> Something about philosophy, based on its illustrations alone, but entirely in French. He tossed it aside and waited for his friend to return, feeling all too smug.</p><p>He surveyed the room as he waited: looking out the window at the scenery passing by before catching a glimpse of Rod’s laptop screen over his shoulder. The bassist was fully engrossed in the action on screen: one of the many classic Godzilla movies, but Bela couldn’t name which.</p><p>He found himself watching along as well until he heard the shuffle of socked-feet coming back towards the chair. Soon enough Farin was standing in front of him, and Bela felt his grin widen impossibly more. </p><p>“Bela,” Farin sighed, setting his cup of tea down on the bus’ thick windowsill. </p><p>“Yes, my friend?” He asked, playing at what he thought was innocence.</p><p>“You’re in my spot.”</p><p>“There’s plenty of room,” Bela replied, gesturing around himself at what remained of the chair. There most certainly was <em> not </em>space in the conventional sense, unless Farin felt like sitting on the armrests—but why would he want to when there was a perfectly acceptable seat right in front of him?</p><p>He adjusted himself, sitting upright more naturally than he had been before, and patted his lap.</p><p>“<em>Sitz, bitteschön</em>,” he invited, pleasant and sincere despite his imposition. It was a position they found themselves in often enough, as comfortable around each other as they were, but Bela had never asked so blatantly for it before.</p><p>He saw Farin’s eyes flit from his lap, to the couch he had abandoned moments before, and back to his lap before he finally met his gaze. “Fine,” He finally agreed, “but I’m going to keep reading.” </p><p>Farin retrieved his book from where Bela had tossed it, grimacing when he saw that the drummer had made him lose his place. He took a moment to find it again, before unceremoniously plopping down onto Bela’s lap with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary. Bela grunted as Farin squirmed to adjust himself, his long legs draping over an armrest before crossing at the ankle.</p><p>With nowhere else to put them now, Bela slid his arms around Farin in a loose embrace—one behind him on the armrest and the other slung around his waist. Farin let out a pleased hum at the contact, a hint of a smile on his face as he resumed his book. </p><p>He was contentment personified, and Bela couldn’t stand it. </p><p>He was <em> bored.  </em></p><p>Before, he at least had the option to scroll through his phone. In his haste, though, he had forgotten it on the couch. Now he was left alone with, quite literally, idle hands and nothing to do about it. </p><p>His mind wandered, eventually coming to the familiar weight on his lap. Then he could think of <em> nothing else</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Bela used to be the perfect stereotype of a rockstar—all parties and drugs and random hookups—but as is the case with any rockstar with a self-preservation instinct, he had slowed down over the last couple of decades. No more drugs, light on the alcohol, and most definitely no picking up groupies after shows. </p><p>With their cramped tour schedule, he hadn’t even had time for <em> himself</em>, let alone another person. </p><p>But Farin had always been there, hadn’t he?</p><p>His touch was gentle at first, rubbing mindless little circles into Farin’s hip with his thumb. The longer they sat, though, the more impatient he got and the more purposeful his touches became. A hand slipped beneath his black t-shirt, feeling where there had been lean muscle once upon a time. He was still as thin as a rail, but softer now than he had been.</p><p>Bela liked it all the same.</p><p>“<em>Bela,</em>” Farin warned without looking up from his book, though there was no real malice in his voice. Exasperation, perhaps, but he wasn’t pulling away. He could deal with exasperation. </p><p>“I’m bored. Let’s fool around,” Bela suggested, the hand not currently under Farin’s shirt making its way from his hip to cup him through his jeans. “It’s been a while, yeah?”</p><p>Leaning forward, he began trailing kisses down the expanse of Farin’s neck. He could tell the taller man was considering it, he just needed that one last push forward. It had been a long time for Farin, too—even before the tour had started. He had lamented to him about it recently. Well, friends looked out for each other, didn’t they?</p><p>The hand cupping him began to squeeze and massage, and Bela could feel him getting hard.  A shiver of excitement ran down his spine. He knew he was in.</p><p>“What about Rod?” Farin asked, tilting his head to the side to allow Bela more room to kiss. Still feigning uncertainty, but by then he had closed his book and carefully dropped it to the ground. Forgotten in favor of Bela.</p><p>“He’s been staring at that computer for hours. He won’t notice,” The risk of them getting caught admittedly excited Bela, though he knew there was no real consequence if they did. The worst that would happen would be Rod warning them not to mess up the chair. It wasn’t like this was anything new to the bassist, they crossed that bridge during their first tour together decades ago.</p><p>That seemed to have convinced Farin. He pulled away from Bela, but only to adjust himself so that he was straddling his lap properly. Bela took the opportunity to finally kiss him, pulling him down roughly to capture his lips. He had been half hard since the moment Farin sat on his lap, and he was done waiting.</p><p> </p><p>Grabbing Farin by the waist, Bela pulled him down to meet the movements of his hips—a slow grind that pressed their cocks together through the confines of their jeans. Farin parted from the kiss with a low groan, moving along with the pace Bela had set.</p><p>It wasn’t so unlike the cramped fumblings Bela had had in the backseats of cars in his youth, only now there were no curfews, no dates to return home, no rush necessary. Farin wasn’t going anywhere, and he made that abundantly clear with each roll of his hips.</p><p>He may not have been able to dance, but he could keep rhythm where it mattered.</p><p>It was good, it always was with Farin, but Bela’s tight jeans were rapidly becoming a problem. There was barely enough room as it was and, as he had become well acquainted with over the decades, skinny jeans and erections didn’t mix. Farin always had the right idea in that respect, with the cargo pants he had been favoring over the past few years.</p><p>Bela’s hands slid from Farin’s hips to the fly of his pants and, even with the added space he had, his cock was still straining against the zipper. He was quick to undo his fly, freeing him from his confines. He really was bigger than Bela in every way, but he couldn’t find it within himself to be jealous. </p><p>He pulled back Farin’s foreskin and teased at the slit with his thumb, feeling how he shivered above him. Precum aided the glide of his finger, slicking his shaft once he finally wrapped a hand around him.</p><p>His discomfort was momentarily forgotten in favor of pleasuring his friend, every soft moan Farin let out adding to his own pleasure. </p><p>Before he had a chance to get to his own fly, Farin was hiking his shirt up to get at it. Usually having his stomach exposed to the cold of the tour bus would have been a death sentence, but he hardly felt it over the rush of adrenaline through his whole body.</p><p>He let out a shaky breath as Farin pulled his cock out of his boxers, replacing the tightness of his jeans with the tightness of his fist—and that was infinitely preferable. Farin quickly matched the pace that he was being stroked, faster than their grinding had been. </p><p>Every so often he found himself looking over Farin’s shoulder towards Rod, and each time the bassist seemed fully engrossed in his movie, unaware of what was happening behind him. Or, if he was aware, he was at least pretending not to be for their sake.</p><p>Eventually he gave up on checking altogether. It was taking his attention away from Farin, after all. </p><p>For a while it was only that: the two of them jerking each other off, sharing kisses between low moans. It would have been more than enough to get him off, and in fact Bela felt the familiar buildup of pressure deep in the pit of his stomach with each passing second, but he wanted more. He wanted to feel Farin against him properly.</p><p> </p><p>Grabbing Farin’s ass with his free hand, he pulled him even closer—delighting in the gasp it brought forth as he squeezed perhaps a bit harder than was necessary. His head came to rest against Bela's shoulder in this new position, his body an s-shape atop him. </p><p>Bela spit in his palm before taking both of their cocks into his hand, creating a tight ring to fuck. </p><p>The angle was, admittedly, awkward. Farin’s legs were too long and the chair was too shallow. The blond was kneeling more than he was sitting, just so he could get close enough to Bela. </p><p>Still, Bela worked with what they had. </p><p>Bela’s hand stayed mostly still at first, giving the two of them time to find the right angle. While Bela could easily thrust up into his fist, Farin had to angle his thrusts downwards in a way that vaguely reminded Bela of the first time Farin rode him: uncoordinated but determined. </p><p>They found their stride regardless and Bela began to move his hand, squeezing with each upstroke. There wasn’t nearly enough spit to ease the movement, and in any other situation the friction would have bordered on too much. But with Farin pressed against him, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He could deal with the chafing later.</p><p>He had been close before, and it didn’t take him long to work back up to that point. With each stroke, he could feel the familiar buildup of pressure deep in his stomach. He had been trying to stay quiet through it all, but couldn’t help the moan that passed his lips as he came—weeks of pent up tension finally being released and spilling over his fist. </p><p>“<em>Fuck—</em>” he choked out, quickly cut off by Farin mashing their lips together in a heated kiss, one that would have been breathtaking if he had any breath left for him. </p><p>If it was anyone else Bela would have been embarrassed at the speed he came, but it only seemed to encourage Farin. The shallow thrusts of his hips against his hand only increased in their desperation. He continued stroking them both well after he was past the point of overstimulation, his body trembling with pleasure that bordered on pain. He sped up then, hardly giving Farin time to adjust to the brutal pace. </p><p>Farin broke the kiss with a gasp, digging his blunt nails into Bela’s shoulders. Practically holding on for dear life. With every downstroke, he could feel Farin’s entire body grow more tense above him. Like a string about to snap. </p><p>The sound Farin made as he came always caught Bela off guard, no matter how many times he had heard it through the decades. It was more of a whimper than anything else, a high stuttering sound that erupted from his throat and matched the spasms that coursed through him. He came in several bursts, hot against Bela’s clammy skin. </p><p>Bela stroked Farin through the aftershocks until a hand fell from his shoulder, weakly pushing him away. Giving them the both of them the reprieve they needed. </p><p>As they caught their breath, Bela could feel Farin’s eyes on him. They were trained on the splashes of white against the black, orange, and blue of his belly button tattoo. His stomach had become the unwitting target. Bela ran an already cum-slick finger through the mess they had made and, since he seemed so interested, he pressed it against Farin’s lower lip. </p><p>“Open up,” He requested, his voice low and still thick with lust. Farin complied without hesitation, locking eyes with the drummer as he took his finger down to the third knuckle. He shivered as Farin rolled his tongue along the digit, cleaning it thoroughly before pulling his mouth away.</p><p>“<em>Schmeckt</em>,” Farin remarked with a wink, licking away the cum that remained on his lips from Bela's hand.</p><p>Bela felt his spent cock twitch uselessly against his hip, and for a moment he wished he was 20 years younger so he could pull Farin into their bunks for another round. Unfortunately, all he could do was lock the memory away for another time.</p><p> </p><p>As much as Bela would have enjoyed basking in the afterglow a little longer, Farin was soon tucking them both back into their pants and getting off of his lap, once again disappearing down the hall. He returned with a small towel that he had dampened, which Bela recognized as the one usually hanging off the sink for their dishes, embroidered with a quaint floral scene on one corner. </p><p>Bela wiped off his hand and what he could of his stomach with the offered towel, amazed at how Farin had seemingly come out of this unscathed, his dark clothes pristine. He didn’t even have a hair out of place. Bela’s shirt, however, would need more than just a wet rag. So he simply pulled it off, tossing it to the side with the rag and making a mental note to pick them both up later.</p><p>Where the bus had once smelled like the vague sterility of cleaning supplies, it was now thick with the musk of sex. If Rod didn’t know what was going on before, he certainly did now. That point was only proven by the look the bassist gave him as he turned to crack the window ever so slightly—not scandalized so much as annoyed that he had to do it in the first place. He would get over it, though, he always did. </p><p>Bela would have expected Farin to be done humoring him then, to take the couch that he had abandoned. Instead, he was grabbing his book and making himself comfortable on his lap once again. The back of his head came to rest on Bela’s shoulder as he hung his legs off the armrest, half curled up against him. </p><p>“Now will you let me read?” He asked, the playful undertone finally returning to his voice. It would seem that whatever Bela had done, he was now forgiven. So how could Bela continue to deny him his wish? </p><p>“I suppose you’ve earned it,” He teased, wrapping his arms around Farin’s waist to tug him closer. With the window open, he was finally starting to feel the cold. Farin always ran warm, though, and in that position he covered him like a blanket. </p><p>This time when Farin returned to his reading, Bela no longer felt ignored. A pleasant feeling of bonelessness had filled him, and for once he was content to simply sit. Nothing else mattered, so long as Farin was in his lap.</p>
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